Feed (Newsflesh Trilogy #1)

by Mira Grant

Santa Cruz is zombie territory. You don’t go there unless you’re suicidal, stupid, or both.

The pack had probably been stalking us since before we hit the city limits, gathering reinforcements from all over the county as they approached. Packs of infected get smarter and more dangerous the larger they become. Groups of four or less are barely a threat unless they can corner you, but a pack of twenty or more stands a good chance of breaching any barrier the uninfected try to put up. You get enough of the infected together and they’ll start displaying pack hunting techniques; they’ll start using actual tactics. It’s like the virus that’s taken them over starts to reason when it gets enough hosts in the same place. It’s scary as hell, and

it’s just about the worst nightmare of anyone who regularly goes into zombie territory—getting cornered by a large group that knows the land better than you do.

Fresh infected—really fresh ones—still look almost like the people that they used to be. Their faces show emotion, and they move with a jerkiness that could just mean they slept wrong the night before. It’s harder to kill something that still looks like

a person, and worst of all, the bastards are fast. The only thing more dangerous than a fresh zombie is a pack of them, and I counted at least eighteen before I realized that it didn’t matter, and stopped bothering.

Unprotected mucous membranes can spoil a hell of a lot more than that, but I practically have to blackmail him to get him into the Kevlar. Goggles are a nonstarter.

That means no Yosemite for at least another two years. I’m fine with that. There’s plenty of news to be found in more populated areas.

There were five of them, all fresh enough to look almost human, assuming you discounted the extreme dilation of their pupils and the slack, hungry way they stared at my brother as their fingers clawed against the fence. They’d died within the past few hours.

“Don’t fall, asshole, or I’m telling Mom you did it for love of the dead girl.”

Zombies generally choose the living over the dead, but something that won’t put up a fight is always better than nothing at all.

“We finally crack the global top five, so of course we’re going to get eaten by zombies that same night.”

Shaun’s laughter managed to be bitter and amused at the same time. “Are you ever not a pessimist?”

“Sometimes. But then I wake up.” The zombie was continuing to advance, moaning as it came. There were no answer...

It was easier to look than it was to avoid flinching at what I saw. The governor was watching me with undisguised blankness, like a little boy watching a bug he intended to smash.

Sometimes in the news, “luck” is just a matter of “capitalizing on someone else’s pain.”

“Sometimes family is all we have, sir.”

We made our good-byes without much conviction; he needed to get back to the business of mourning, and I needed to get back to my team before Shaun decided to go hiking or Buffy took the wireless network off-line for upgrading. Rick hadn’t been with us long enough for me to know what I didn’t

He never called me by my full name unless he was angry, scared, or both.

“Don’t make any more calls. I don’t know if they can trace them. You stay right there, Georgia. Don’t you fucking dare move!”

Buffy smiled. It was a small, utterly resigned expression, one that turned wry as she rolled up her right sleeve and turned her arm toward me, showing the place where a chunk had been bitten out of her forearm. Bone showed through the red. “You mean like this? I must’ve hit my head on the roof when the truck rolled, because I woke up when Chuck bit me.”

My mother once told me that no woman is naked when she comes equipped with a bad mood and a steady glare.

“I am, in fact, immortal when annoyed.”

“Wow.” “Wow?” “You’ll never die.”